


Take Two

by erebones



Series: Sons of War [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fisting, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Switching, Top/Bottom Dynamics, uncomfortable sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well into their relationship and living at Vigil's Keep, Felix wants to try something new. He doesn't like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Two

**Author's Note:**

> notes/warnings at the bottom

Carver likes the way things are. They have a rhythm to their daily lives—not repetition, he’s never _bored_ —but an easy pace of give-and-take: casual displays of affection in the midst of dinner or training, a shared look of amusement at inopportune times, a stolen kiss behind the wall of the smithy between shift rotations. And in bed, a sweet affection bordered by the edges of desire and loss of control, always just what they both need. Which is why he’s surprised when Felix breaks off in the middle of a very deep, wet, _thorough_ kiss to stammer out that he wants to try something different.

“Of course,” he says, hiding his surprise with another quick peck. He’s got one arm under Felix where they’re lying on their sides in bed, and the other is down the back of Felix’s trousers, fondling his arse. He withdraws the latter to squeeze reassuringly at his lean hip. “What d’you want to do?”

Felix is blushing furiously as he whispers, “I want to try being inside you.”

Carver blinks, taken aback—not by Felix’s request, but at the fact that he’s never once thought to suggest it himself. It suddenly seems an absurd oversight. “All right,” he says, kissing Felix softly to cover his delay. “Yeah, whatever you want to do, love.”

Felix still seems hesitant. “Is that something _you_ want to do?”

“Sweetheart, if I ever turn down sex with you, assume that something is seriously wrong,” Carver jokes. Felix doesn’t seem reassured. “Yes, Fee. Yes. I want that. Just give me a minute to, uh, freshen up.”

He slips from the bed, wishing he’d had more time to prepare. It’s not that he doesn’t _wash_ , but his usual daily ablutions aren’t really enough for what Felix has in mind. Felix, in turn, is almost painfully fastidious whenever they’re at Vigil’s Keep, and he almost never has to postpone things to take an extra scrub-down. Consequently, Carver is prickly with embarrassment and almost completely soft when he returns to bed and slips into Felix’s arms.

“All clean,” he teases, cupping Felix’s cheek in his palm. Felix ducks his head away, flushing, and that gives Carver pause. Felix is never shy in bed, not unless he’s playing a specific part to drive Carver wild, and his hesitancy over this entire affair is a touch worrisome. He kisses the arch of his brow bone, trying to get him to look up. “Hey. Everything okay?”

Felix nods and kisses him. That, at least, is familiar, and his shameless enthusiasm quickly has Carver rocking against his lover’s hip. After a little while of this, Felix fetches the lightly-scented oil they prefer, and Carver wriggles free of the rest of his clothes. When Felix hesitates by the foot of the bed, he nudges his trousered thigh with his bare foot. “Better take those off.”

Fumbling, Felix complies. When he clambers back onto the bed, the clay pot in one hand, Carver sees that he’s not quite fully hard, his lovely deep brown foreskin still pouting around the ridge of his corona. He spreads his legs invitingly, knees drawn up. “C’mere.”

Felix kneels between his thighs and reaches for the pot. His hand is shaking, a bit, and he slops some of the oil on the sheets, but Carver takes his wrist gently and guides his slick hand back behind where his balls are drawn up tight. Felix has an odd look on his face—not squeamish, exactly, but concentrated, like he’s focusing harder on being gentle than on being pleasurable. But Carver doesn’t mind. His fingers are slim and lightly calloused, and two go in easily. Carver sighs and tightens his internal muscles. Felix makes a small sound of surprise, and when he crooks his fingers as if to withdraw, he strokes accidentally against the sensitive place inside him that tears a groan from his chest.

“Relax,” Carver whispers through the sparks of pleasure lighting up his spine like a stormy night sky. It feels odd to be the one saying it, but Felix looks like he needs it. “Hey. I do this for you all the time. What’s so different about this time?”

“I don’t know,” Felix says. He sounds a little off, but Carver puts it down to nerves. He slides his fingers through the oil and reaches out for Felix’s cock, which is still at a little over half-mast. A few slow, slippery strokes soon fix that, and Carver encourages him closer, his knees bracketing Felix’s hips. Felix comes forward, bracing himself up on his right hand while his other curls loosely around his own cock. His brow is furrowed as he nudges the head of his prick against Carver’s nether entrance. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“It’s fine. I’m relaxed and slick enough.” The thought of Felix being inside him, while not one he’s dwelt on before, is rapidly becoming more and more appealing. He twitches his body upward in invitation. “Just go slow. C’mere.”

He cranes upward, angling for a kiss, and Felix delivers on that readily enough. His jaw is a little stiff, but his lips part for Carver’s and his tongue is familiarly wet and eager. Carver sucks it into his mouth and relishes the needy moan it elicits. But Felix still isn’t moving. So he wraps his hand around Felix’s wrist and guides him forward until his prick breaches Carver’s body, snug-fitting but perfect. Carver exhales long and slow. Maker, that’s good.

Above him, Felix shudders. Carver hums and forces his attention back to his lover. Felix’s eyes are closed and his brow is knotted, his mouth a little pinched shape, and his free hand clenches tightly in a fist against Carver’s inner thigh. Carver realizes, to his surprise and slowly dawning horror, that Felix is softening inside him.

“Fee? Maker, are you all right?”

“I—I don’t know,” Felix mutters. He’s turning red now, and not with pleasure. And that just makes it worse—all the stiffness goes out of his cock and Carver’s body pushes it out naturally, and that’s the icing on top of the not-very-appetizing cake.

Carver sits up and takes Felix into his arms. He’s rigid as a pole and clearly trying very hard not to tremble. He presses a kiss to Felix’s forehead and murmurs nonsense words until the trembling slows and his breathing is back to normal. “Easy, Fee, it’s all right. We don’t have to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” Felix mumbles into his shoulder. “I don’t know why I…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Carver says quietly. “If it’s not good, it’s not good, and we don’t have to do it.”

When Felix is calm again, Carver nudges the side of his face with his nose, seeking a kiss without demanding it, but Felix gives it freely. His mouth is soft and pliant now, if a little hesitant. Carver keeps it shallow, withdrawing just when Felix begins to finally regain some initiative. He stares up at Carver with wide, dark eyes and parted lips, and Carver is torn between wanting to devour him and wanting to _be_ devoured. Given what just occurred, he says, “I want to try something, and I want you to tell me if we need to stop, all right? Don’t worry about my feelings. I want you to feel safe.”

“I do feel safe,” Felix says right away. He looks down at Carver’s disbelieving look. “I do. I just… didn’t like that. Being over you, being… in charge?” He sounds hesitant, but Carver says nothing, letting him feel out the edges for himself. “Not in charge, I suppose, but the, er, dominant one.”

Carver is surprised by this. “You think I dominate you?”

“I mean, not in _that_ way. I don’t expect you to tie me up and, er, you know. Hit me, and. Things. But.” His tongue pokes out briefly, small and pink and trapped between his teeth, and Carver feels a sharp pang of affection deep in his chest. “You take care of me. I like that.”

“I like taking care of you,” Carver admits quietly, breathlessly happy when Felix snuggles under his chin.

“So,” Felix murmurs, petting lightly at Carver’s thigh, “what is it you wanted to try?”

Carver takes a breath. “I know we just talked about, er, domination and all that…”

He can feel Felix smiling against his skin. “It’s all right. Just don’t restrain me, please.”

“I wouldn’t. I don’t want to.” Carver cups the back of his head, cradling him close. “I know that if I ask you to do something, you will for as long as it makes you feel good. And that’s all that matters.” Against him, Felix shudders, and this time it’s not with anxiety. Carver presses his lips to his temple. “Kneel on the floor, love, and put your hands  on my thighs.”

Felix scrambles to obey in an instant, and a feeling of rightness settles over Carver like a veil. He slides to the edge of the mattress and lets his feet rest flat on the floor. Between his knees, Felix sits forward on his heels, flushed and eager, his cock a heavy, thickening weight against one thigh.

“Listen to me,” Carver rasps as sternly as he can manage under the circumstances. “If it’s too much I want you to pinch me, here,” and he places Felix’s hand just so, fingers curled against the thin skin behind his knee. “I’ll stop immediately if you do. Understand?”

“Yes,” Felix whispers. His eyes are huge and black, all pupil; a bead of fluid pearls on the tip of his cock. Perfect. Carver cups his head in one hand and draws him in, and Felix goes readily, mouth already open—Carver’s prick slides against his tongue and Felix swallows him to the root.

_Maker_ , he’s good at this. Too good. So eager, a little sloppy with it, his throat relaxing easily around the fat head and tongue working against the underside. He takes Carver’s rough thrusts with moans of need that vibrate up his throat all the way to the root of Carver’s cock, his hands tight on Carver’s thighs. He doesn’t have enough hair for Carver to grab, but the nape of his neck works just as well. He can feel the skin beginning to bruise beneath his grip, but Felix doesn’t falter. Instead his eyes darken impossibly, his face flushes and his chest heaves with each delayed breath as Carver fucks into his throat.

A part of him is still waiting for the warning pinch, but it doesn’t come. Tension coils thickly in Carver’s body and his grip grows rougher, his thrusts a little deeper. Felix takes it all. He gags briefly and only presses forward, begging for more with sweet little whimpers that Carver can feel around his prick. Saliva drips down his balls and the wet, fleshy sounds fill his head, driving him toward his goal with single-minded purpose. He feels sharper with every thrust, more aware, perfectly attuned to every subtle shift and sway of Felix’s body; Felix, by contrast, is melting between his thighs, every muscle going soft and lax, his eyes distant, his rock-hard cock bouncing almost lazily against the open stretch of his thigh. Carver feels a wave of understanding break over him, cold and tingling. Felix doesn’t just desire this, he _needs_ it. Needs the rough pounding against his throat, the bruising force of Carver’s hand holding him in place, the complete control Carver has over him. It’s not about power, Carver realizes, but the governance of Carver’s hands and cock and voice, taking the reins, taking away uncertainty and fear and turning it into bliss.

And just like that he’s on the edge. Carver pulls out suddenly, a long string of drool gleaming between his cockhead and Felix’s swollen lower lip. Felix lurches forward to try and take him back in, but Carver forces his jaw up and away. “You choose,” he growls. “D’you want me to come in your mouth or on your face?”

Felix trembles and gasps, mindless, his grip tightening imperceptibly. “Face,” he manages, and he sounds like he’s beyond further speech, so Carver takes him at his word. In his left hand he holds Felix in place, thumb pushing hard enough to dent the flesh of his lower lip and fingers clamped against the open hinge of his jaw; with the other he jerks his spit-slick cock in quick, harsh pulls that drive him against the wall of his orgasm. It only takes a moment or two and then stripes of thick, white spend are coating that flushed face, painting the red, gleaming lips and coaxing out a flicker of pink tongue. Felix closes his eyes at the taste and slumps against his knee.

“Fee,” Carver whispers. After the cacophony of sweat and spit and sex, his voice sounds oddly strained, and Felix only exhales softly in response. He makes no move to ask for reciprocation. Moving more on instinct than understanding, Carver scoops him up—far too easily, Felix really ought to spend more time in the training yards—and puts him in bed where he curls up, knotting his fingers into the sheets and pushing his cum-stained face into the pillow. He’s still hard, but he makes a small noise of disapproval when Carver reaches for his cock. Baffled, Carver smooths his hands reassuringly down the comma of his torso. Felix hums. Not much for talking at the moment, then. Carver wipes gingerly at the mess on his face with the edge of a sheet, being extra careful around his eyes, and Felix lets himself be turned and manipulated, head and limbs all heavy and lax with satisfaction.

When he’s sort of clean—the pillowcase will have to be changed, but that’s all right—Carver crawls in behind him and wraps his arms around his slender body. Felix turns immediately, shoving himself clumsily into the spaces between them until he’s completely enveloped. Carver presses a kiss to his sweaty brow and lets himself drift.

Felix surfaces a little while later, breaths deepening and eyelashes brushing like spidersilk against Carver’s throat. His fingers, curled slackly against his breastbone, unfurl and pet lightly at Carver’s chest, and Carver hums, tightening his hold briefly in answer.

“Carv?”

“Yeah, Fee?”

Felix clears his throat, and Carver winces at the coarse sound. But Felix nuzzles up and kisses his worry away, lips and tongue no longer clumsy, and Carver touches him eagerly, hands finding the supple curve of his waist and stroking the plush, smooth skin of his arse. Felix sighs and pushes back into the contact, and Carver rolls them over to settle between his spread thighs. Against the linen of the pillowcase, Felix is a beautiful walnut-shell brown, the tip of his nose smeared with a bit of flaking white that Carver missed, his eyes dark and sparkling with mirth. He looks _happy_ , Carver thinks—such a far cry from the stiff, closed-off discomfort of a little while ago. His skin is warm and soft under Carver’s hands, and his lips taste like salt and faintly of the lemon-thyme oil resting in its open pot on the bedside table.

“Please,” Felix whispers when Carver finally relinquishes his mouth to tongue the stubbled ridge of his jaw. “Carv. Please.”

His voice is syrup-sweet and dark, his eyelids weighted down in a way that turns his lashes to smudged soot against his cheeks. Carver nibbles delicately at his chin, earning a giggle and a little writhe, a half-hearted escape attempt that he pins easily with his sheer weight. “All right,” he says, feeling the tickle of his own words against Felix’s ear. “Open up, darling.”

Felix is stupidly flexible, an enjoyable benefit of his early-morning regimen. It mainly consists of lying on the floor and contorting himself into all sorts of impossible positions, and Carver refuses point-blank to participate after the indignity of his first (and only) attempt, but Maker is it worth it to see Felix draw his knees up and back against his chest like it’s nothing, exposing every secret, shrouded bit of him to Carver’s raking gaze. He dips two fingers into the oil pot and draws them down the smooth patch of skin behind his balls to his hole, a tight little furl of muscle that twitches when he rubs it gently. Felix sighs, eyes half-closed but watching his every move. Carver puts his free hand on the back of Felix’s thigh, pressing down just a little to anchor himself, and massages more firmly, toying with the delicious sensation of Felix’s body slowly giving way.

When he slips inside it’s mostly accidental, the muscle relaxing suddenly with the smooth, consistent pressure of his fingers. Felix lets out a little gasp, and his cock twitches where it lays against his stomach. Carver pauses, searching his face, but he’s smiling and relaxed, the passage around his fingers hot and velvet-smooth, and so he pushes deep and withdraws again, leaving the dimple of his nether entrance a little looser than before. Felix whines and shifts, but settles as soon as Carver presses in again. It’s addictive, the warm clasp of his body welcoming each shallow intrusion, and Carver teases him this way for long enough that he has to reapply the oil. Felix has given up on watching—his head pushes back into the pillow and his eyes are closed, his lips parted as he revels in the slow, steady invasion. Carver pushes three fingers in without trouble, and barely gets more than a flicker of expression in response. But he doesn’t mind, doesn’t need the sharp, burning focus of Felix’s eyes on him to know he’s doing it right.

His knees are getting a little stiff, so he settles his legs in a pretzel shape and pulls Felix gently by the hips until he’s resting in his lap. Keeping his fingers seated all the way to the knuckles, he manipulates Felix’s legs with his other hand, drawing one knee over his shoulder and letting the other splay wide, stretched out against the rumpled bedding. At this, Felix opens his eyes, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. His hands come up from where they’ve been buried in the sheets to touch himself—rubbing slow circles on his belly, his chest, pinching tightly at his nipples with thumb and forefinger. He doesn’t ask permission, and he doesn’t need to. This is different from before, simpler, more familiar. Carver breathes in, and a fourth finger joins the other three.

“Carv,” Felix breathes, awed. He doesn’t touch his cock, even though it’s stiff and nearly purple at the tip, leaking a steady smear of clear fluid near his navel. Instead he pushes one arm behind his head and beneath the pillow for stability, and the other reaches down to rub the hard, bony plate of Carver’s knee. “Can you…”

Carver takes a steadying breath. “Are you sure? This isn’t something I want to have to ask Harper to fix, later.”

Felix snorts ungracefully and tightens around Carver’s hand. “I’ll tell you if I need you to stop. Okay?” His touch on Carver’s knee is calming, his gaze unwavering, and Carver is struck again by the difference between this Felix and the Felix of half an hour ago. That Felix had been stiff and unrecognizable, trying to mold himself into a character that didn’t quite fit. This Felix is flayed open and exposed, his most private places held in the palm of Carver’s hand, and yet his voice is steeped in certainty and his body is languorous with self-satisfaction as Carver curls his thumb into his palm and pushes _in_.

Carver has big hands. Big _everything_ , really, a natural breadth and height only amplified by his dedication to the life of a warrior. When his knuckles butt up against the taut skin of Felix’s arse, he freezes, certain that he’s going to do his lover serious harm. But Felix only strokes his knee and rocks a little, adjusting to the stretch, and Carver lets himself relax. He works with what he has, rubbing carefully with his knuckles and fizzing with quiet pleasure when Felix bites hard on his lower lip and plucks harder at the reddened nubs of his nipples. If he had smaller hands, perhaps, he would be able to go deeper, but this seems to be enough.

“Oh,” Felix whimpers suddenly, eyes glazing over. Carver can feel the swollen knot of Felix’s sweet spot against the second knuckle of his thumb. He rubs it steadily and Felix’s hips begin to rock, quiet sounds punching out of him with every strangled breath. And then, though he puts no extra pressure on the angle of his wrist, Felix’s body loosens just a little bit more and his hand is swallowed entirely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring down. The skin is red and shiny with oil, and he swears he can feel the implacable pressure of Felix’s pelvic bone through flesh. “Fee, Maker’s _breath_ are you okay?”

For answer, Felix whimpers, eyes shut tight and teeth bared, and his abdomen and his insides tighten abruptly as his prick spits out thick ropes of seed. It’s utterly silent, just the tight clutch of his body around Carver’ hand and the cords in his neck standing out from exertion, and it’s one of the hottest things Carver’s ever seen. When it’s over, Felix goes slack, but his eyes are still dark and his prick shows no signs of losing interest. He licks his lips and smiles hazily. “You gonna fuck me now or what?”

“Maker,” Carver groans. He slides his hand free with painstaking care, watching Felix for the slightest sign of discomfort, but Felix is stroking his cock with slow, untroubled strokes, the way eased with his own spend. He’s still in Carver’s lap, and it’s easy to shift his hips just a bit and push his cock into Felix’s waiting body. Carver half-expects him to be loose and gaping from his earlier attentions, but he isn’t—a little softer inside, maybe, but still nicely snug and hot. Felix sighs and squirms happily, hand working faster, and Carver nudges up onto his knees for a better angle. It’s easy to bend down like this, straining his spine the slightest bit in order to kiss him quiet.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against Felix’s lips. “Maker, look at you. You take my cock so well, you took my whole _hand_ , Maker fuck I can’t believe that happened.”

He isn’t always talkative in bed, but the words fall easily from him now. Felix loves it, whimpering and turning his head into the pillow as Carver takes him in a steady rhythm, the bed creaking faintly in time as he babbles into his ear. Carver is overcome with affection. He pets Felix with his hands, shifting his weight from elbow to elbow as he strokes over his chest and belly and flanks, reaching  back now and then to scoop a hand beneath his arse and hold him up off the mattress.

It’s the murmured endearments more than anything that push Felix over the edge. When he comes he throws back his head, forming one long line from clavicle to chin, and his body shudders in a handful of slow, bone-deep pulses that Carver can feel from the inside. Felix clenches his jaw and keeps silent, but a few tears escape and run down his flushed cheeks. Carver bends and kisses them away.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and Felix finally gasps and opens his eyes.

“Carv,” he gasps. He clings to Carver’s shoulders and shakes as he comes down, whimpering every time Carver touches his lips to his forehead, cheeks, eyelids. “Carv.”

“I’ve got you,” Carver whispers. “I’ll always have you, sweetheart.”

Felix groans and slumps against the pillow, lips parted and lids falling to half-mast. “What’d you stop for?” he murmurs, and his lips curl in a faint smirk as his hips cant upward.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Come in me,” Felix breathes, and Carver is lost.

He slumps over Felix when he’s finished, heart galloping like a runaway stallion. Felix is the one to murmur in his ear, now, soft assurances that spread through him in the warm afterglow, echoed by the delicate trail of fingers over his back. He pushes his face into Felix’s neck in a clumsy kiss and carefully rolls to the side. Felix follows, cuddling in close.

“I liked that,” he whispers. He hides his face in Carver’s sweat-damp chest hair, so Carver settles for kissing the top of his head.

“So did I.” Carver strokes his back soothingly, the ridges of his scars both faded and familiar under his touch. “And the other...?” He means _before_ —not the terrible attempt at switching roles, but Felix on his knees and mindless with pleasure, mouth full of Carver’s cock. He doesn’t elaborate, but Felix understands.

“Yes. I mean, yes, it was... good.”

“Would you want to try it again, ever?”

A slight pause, and then a soft, almost embarrassed, “Yes.”

Carver lets himself relax. “Good. Me too. Not all the time, but… sometimes. Whenever you need.”

“Or you,” Felix fills in. His hand finds the divots of muscle in Carver’s belly and traces them until Carver flinches away with a muffled laugh.

“Yeah, all right. Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story happened because I realized I only ever write Felix bottoming and Carver topping, and I wanted to know why. So I tried to write top!Felix and he did NOT like it, and then it became a weird extension of my own sexual preferences/issues, for no good reason. This fic isn't trying to say that all cis gay males fall into a certain pattern and shouldn't deviate from it, or that gay couples necessarily have to have a tom/bottom dom/sub type of relationship. (I was around for the great toplock/bottomlock debate of the Sherlock fandom last year or so, and it left scars haha). This is just a fic about communication in the bedroom, considerate sexual partners, being honest about your preferences, and not being afraid to try new things, even if they don't always work out. 
> 
> So I don't really feel like warning for dubcon fits this situation, but be aware that in this fic, Felix feels he has to conform to a certain "ideal" in the bedroom, and forces himself into it (and when he decides he really doesn't enjoy it, Carver is perfectly happy to do something else).


End file.
